Tucson, AZ: Samaritans: Topo Maps

Karr Canyon, New Mexico map. June 2013.

At a recent Samaritans meeting, professor emeritus Ed McCullough gave a brief lesson on how to read a topographic (topo) map.

Topo map, the Bumble Bee, Arizona. Source: USGS.

Topo maps and GPS are important in the humanitarian work the Samaritans do. Through direct encounters with migrants on the move; through the discovery of human remains; through indirect, visible evidence of apparent migrant activity; and through second-party reports, Samaritans collect location data and record it. Topo maps and GPS devices assist Samaritans in returning to prior water placements and in making decisions about where to test new water placements. ... and, oh yeah, to not get lost in the desert.

The Tucson Samaritans have an inventory of hard-copy topo maps for the areas they cover.

Tbilisi map. June 2012.

Samaritans use the topo maps in conjunction with their GPS devices, which the Samaritans customize to reflect historical location data related to their mission.

Dubai map. January 2012.

You can be sure vigilante militias do the same.

In poking around about topo maps, I found a 2015 article, Designing a Topo Map For Search and Rescue. It's illuminating to learn how the elimination of utility lines on an updated USGS topo map might affect search and rescue efforts of first responders.

As I learn more about the deadly theater that plays out in the desert, and the people on the front lines - migrant peoples, Border Patrol, humanitarians, vigilante militias, coyote guides, Tohono O'odham Nation peoples, other borderland residents - and what a crap shoot it is to save lives with water in the right place at the right time - I think: Surely there are people who know with a reasonable level of certainty the trajectory a group of migrant folks will follow, depending on its departure point from Mexico.

If a coyote is leading a group, at what point, and with the guidance of whom, is the decision made to follow a certain path?

Is it true that the Border Patrol might track a group into the US early on, but let the group exhaust itself after several days of travel in arduous conditions before picking it up, jeopardizing the lives of group members?

If a group leaves from a widely-known departure point in Mexico, a border village, say, doesn't it stand to reason there are only so many paths a group can take in the first 20 miles or so into the desert? And therefore, in theory, make some educated estimates possible about where a group might first start hurting for water?

And if a humanitarian group deduces or receives advance intel about a group's general trek path, at what moment does the humanitarian group's act of mercy in the form of water and food, based on the use of that intel, become a crime of aiding and abetting?

Could a humanitarian group use reverse 'engineering' to predict travel patterns of migrants, based on where Border Patrol picked up groups in the previous 30 days?

Do algorithms exist that suggest how a group of people tends to make decisions at way points about which direction to go?

I'm sure more will be revealed to me as I get more educated. Because I sure as heck know that people smarter and more experienced than I are literally in the trenches (or in the desert: the washes) doing life-saving work every day.

Video tutorials on topo maps

Below is a quick-and-easy, chill tutorial from REI. I like the unrushed pacing of the narrator's speech, the timbre of her voice, and her plainspoken accent, all of which contribute to a pleasant tutorial experience.

Below is a longer lesson. Although five times as long as REI's tutorial, Seth Horowitz' lesson is smooth as cake in the mix of his friendly, accessible voice; an approximation of interactivity with fill-in-the-gaps exercises; the multiple examples of each concept; and the simplicity of his terminology and his economy of speech. Mr. Horowitz is an earth science teacher at a middle school, and the graded language and content for this lesson works just fine for me!

Arizona: Sasabe: Humane Borders: July

View of sacred mountain, Baboquivari, through the Wall. Sasabe US and MX. July 2019.

Being part of a water run for Humane Borders offers four-fold benefits:

1. Take an action that might save lives; 
2. Give eyewitness testimony to friends and family about the effects of government decisions on the lives of individual women, men, and children;
3. Hear fresh perspectives on borderland issues from fellow water-truck passengers; and
4. Revel in the sensory gifts of the Sonoran Desert, which indiscriminately transfixes and kills.

Water being transferred in Sasabe for Grupo Beta, Sasabe, Sonora, Mexico. July 2019.

On this day's run, the beginning of July, we went to Sasabe in the US, and Sasabe in Mexico. Whether north or south of the border, Sasabe is a village.

The Wall between the Sasabes, Arizona and Sonora. July 2019.

A handsome US Customs compound sits on the US side of the border.


The Sasabe run has only one stop: Just over the border in Sasabe, Sonora, Mexico. Humane Borders delivers a tank of water to a receiving tank in the yard behind the Mexican Customs facility. Grupo Beta uses the water to give humanitarian aid to trekking migrants on the Mexican side of the Sonoran Desert.

It takes a little over half an hour to transfer the water from one tank to the other. During this operation, there's not much to do other than observe the community affairs of bi-national ants and to gaze thoughtfully at the United States from Mexico through the metal bars and gulag-style razor wire of the Wall.

The Wall between the Sasabes, Arizona and Sonora. July 2019.

On the way back to Tucson from Sasabe, we stopped on a desolate stretch of the road to visit the Crosses. The still, red Crosses speak in their inanimate silence of the individual life forces who let go their last breaths in these spots. Each Cross represents one woman, man, or child who left behind family, friends, home, school, the favorite corner store, the house of worship, the garden with the mango tree.

Alvaro Enciso Crosses to mark people who died crossing the desert. Look how close to the road they were when they died. July 2019.

I learned from my fellow water-truckers that artist Alvaro Enciso makes these Crosses, and most Tuesdays, under the auspices of the Samaritans, he heads up a group to plant the Crosses in the location, as marked with GPS, where the remains were claimed by the Border Patrol, ICE, or the Pima County Sheriff's or Medical Examiner's Office. If a deceased person's family is ...... lucky? ..... there is identifying information on the remains that allow Pima County to notify the family of their loved one's death.

Alvaro Enciso Cross to mark people who died crossing the Sonoran Desert, Arizona. The sweet purse that belonged to a girl or woman. July 2019.

Through his Crosses, Mr. Enciso calls attention to the human dignity of each person who died. That each soul breathed, ate, loved, feared, and had the same rights and desires that our Declaration of Independence says are inalienable - that which cannot be taken from us - to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.


Not long before our visit, someone had vandalized some Crosses.

Alvaro Enciso Crosses, one vandalized, to mark people who died crossing the Sonoran Desert, Arizona. July 2019.

A cumulative slide show of desert water runs via Humane Borders and Samaritans below:

Tucson, AZ: Saguaro National Park (East)

Saguaro National Park (East). Tucson, Arizona. March 2019.

Saguaro National Park has two sections: East and West.

Saguaro National Park (East). Tucson, Arizona. March 2019.

On a spring day, I made my first visit, choosing the East section.

Saguaro National Park (East). Tucson, Arizona. March 2019.

Blooms - yellows, oranges, whites, and soft purples - called boisterously to the day's visitors. Look at us! Look at us! How beauteous we are, don't you agree?!

Yes.

My good friend Beau Jocque and his band accompanied me while I drove us along the scenic drive:

They remained in the car while I walked the short, paved Desert Ecology Trail.

Saguaro National Park (East). Tucson, Arizona. March 2019.

 The warm air riffling through low, bright flowers invited me to pause beside their cheery selves, diverting my attention from the tall saguaros:

The saguaros have such presence.

Saguaro National Park (East). Tucson, Arizona. March 2019.

A cumulative slide show below of Saguaro National Park; it will grow as I add photos from future visits to both sections:

New Mexico: Architecture 1: Alamogordo: Azotea

North-facing, Azotea Apts, Alamogordo, New Mexico

Back here, I said I wanted to get an understanding of how New Mexican architecture does and doesn't work with its climate for comfort and economy. I'm using "economy" in its broadest sense, encompassing financial and environmental costs/benefits.

West-facing, Azotea Apts, Alamogordo, New Mexico

I revisited the Azotea apartment complex on First Street in Alamogordo so I could get a better look at the design, the residents' outdoor space, the landscaping, and how it all interacts with the sun.

North-facing, Azotea Apts, Alamogordo, New Mexico

Aesthetically, I'm really taken with Azotea. I love the soft sage-y green color, the mid-century boxiness, how the structures are framed by the mountain range, and to a fair extent, the xeriscaping.

Large windows south-facing, Azotea Apts, Alamogordo, New Mexico

What I like specifically about the landscaping is its scale - it doesn't overpower the buildings and it doesn't compete visually with the mountain backdrop. And it appears that it's low maintenance, with a naturalized look, and, of course, is not too thirsty.

Large windows south-facing, Azotea Apts, Alamogordo, New Mexico

It does look a little raggedy, but I'm assuming this is because of its youth; I expect the landscaping will get better each year as its components mature.

South-facing, Azotea Apts, Alamogordo, New Mexico

What I don't like about Azotea is that so many of these giant picture windows have a southern sun exposure - that must be brutal at the height of the summer, with what appears to be only dated vertical blinds as a protection for the inhabitants inside. Yeah, I get that a southern exposure in temperate climates make a lot of sense, but in the high desert where the summers are so hot and the winters relatively mild? It's a lot easier (and cheaper) to get myself warm in a mild winter than try to cool myself off in a hot summer.   

Common area runs east-west, Azotea Apts, Alamogordo, New Mexico

The buildings that are in the middle of the complex have more protection from the sun, but they pay for that in loss of view.

South-facing, Azotea Apts, Alamogordo, New Mexico

South-facing, Azotea Apts, Alamogordo, New Mexico

Given the developers' aspiration to be green, I'm perplexed by the paucity of shade design. Yes, there is a bit of overhang over the large windows and the doorways, but these are so meager in size. Again, for those south-facing, heat-collecting windows, why not more substantial shade design? 











Finally, what I don't like is the stinginess of the residents' personal outdoor space. Some units seem to have only doll-sized patio slabs, or the bit more roomier front-door entrances. Not getting that.

South-facing, Azotea Apts, Alamogordo, New Mexico

  
What it's inside these units, I don't know. Maybe some day I'll get a look. I'd like to.

South-facing, Azotea Apts, Alamogordo, New Mexico

There are probably some design considerations in Azotea vis a vis the sun that I don't know about. Also, as a shade-lover, I may be more sensitive to the sun thing.  Maybe someone more knowledgeable will comment. 

Overall, I like the cosmetics of Azotea's design. As a passer-by and not a resident. 

Oliver Lee Memorial State Park: Always Something Going On

Sunset at Oliver Lee Memorial State Park, Alamogordo, New Mexico

I think deserts are like swamps in that there's always something going on to maintain your interest, to surprise you. There's also that primordial, reptile-eat-reptile vibe to keep you on your toes.

Now, I like oceans well enough, but really, unless you're in the midst of a horrific storm or you're an ocean-sport person, there's not much that changes ocean-side day to day. You do get the zen, "I'm but one drop in the vast sea, " effect, which is pleasant, but other than that, there's not much new that happens.

From the park the other day, I saw a dusty devil whip itself up in the basin:  

Dust up outside Oliver Lee Memorial State Park, Alamogordo, New Mexico.

Dust up outside Oliver Lee Memorial State Park, Alamogordo, New Mexico.

Dust up outside Oliver Lee Memorial State Park, Alamogordo, New Mexico.

I was fortunate to be at the park around the full moon. One night, the park ranger gave a talk on moon lore, finishing up to watch the moon rise over one of the Sacramento Mountains. At first our little group thought the cloud cover would obscure the moon's entrance, then it cleared, then it covered, and then:

Oliver Lee Memorial State Park, Alamogordo, New Mexico.

My camera, alas, wasn't up to the task to finesse the brilliance of the almost-full moon rising with the ambient light it put out in its surroundings.

This photo, though, taken a day or two earlier:

Oliver Lee Memorial State Park, Alamogordo, New Mexico.

On the way back from the full moon program, I saw a rattlesnake. 

There's a lot of bird life in the park. On my last morning at the park, a gaggle of five or so birds, robin-like, but a dusty color, hopped into my site. One jumped atop a tire, another onto my car, and then another ambled right into my living room. I chatted hospitably with them until damned if that bird in my living room didn't hop up to my open camp box and proceed to nose about like a neighbor looking through my medicine cabinet. "Hi, you, get out, all of you now"! I called, clapping my hands. The nerve.

Considerable flora and fauna conducting their business in the park. From wikipedia:

Oliver Lee Memorial State Park is home to mammals that are typically found in the upper Chihuahuan Desert. They include Collared Peccary, Ground squirrels, Mule Deer, Black-tailed Jackrabbit and the Desert Cottontail. These are prey to predators like American Black Bears, Cougars, and Bobcats. American Badgers, North American Porcupines, Raccoon, White-nosed Coati and several species of bats and skunks are also found in the desert of the park.^[2] Two species of rattlesnakes are found in the park, Western Diamondback and Black-tail. Several species of lizards, skinks, geckos, turtles, and non-venomous snakes can be found in the park. The Texas horned lizard, which is threatened by loss of habitat, pesticides and development in Texas and Oklahoma, is thriving in the park. The horned lizards are legally protected in the park and throughout New Mexico.^[2] Known amphibians found in the park include salamanders and toads.^[2] The park is also home to birds such as Turkey Vultures, Red-tailed Hawks, Mourning Doves, hummingbirds, warblers and wrens.^[2]

One of my human neighbors likes to feed the neighborhood skunk on the premise that it'll keep the rodent population near the campsite in check. I'm not a big fan of that sort of thing because I think it creates problems for park visitors or the animals themselves down the road. The "road to hell is paved with good intentions" and all that.

But the same neighbor told me of the tarantula who maintains a hidey-hole in site #14. This tarantula greeted two campers on their picnic table the night they arrived.

Speaking of tarantulas, back here I talked about the 5 Secrets of Great Travel Photography. One secret is to take your camera everywhere you go, even if just down to the corner market in Rustavi. Or if you're at the Oliver Lee Memorial State Park, even if you're just walking the 300 steps up the road to the latrine. (Yes, I counted them.) If I had remembered that rule, I would have had a great shot of a tarantula up close.

In a desert environment, water, of course, is a prized commodity. So when I finished with some dish water or had leftover water from making coffee or for my oatmeal (cooled), it made sense to me to toss it where it would so some good, alongside a thirsty plant.

Which got me thinking about which plants would benefit from the water windfalls. Am I attracted to a certain plant, and if so, why? For its size? Beauty? Perception of need?

Reminded me of an article I read awhile back on the human-driven natural selection process of poppies in ... let me see if I can find this article ...  yes, but it was the snow lotus and not poppies. Here.

So: Was my attraction to a particularly attractive little cactus near my campsite a factor in my giving it water that it wouldn't otherwise enjoy, and furthermore, that other, less seductive plants did not receive? Over time, if other people have the same urges, will cactus become ever cuter, as the ones with cute genes get the water?

Oliver Lee Memorial State Park: My Temporary Home

Hello! Thanks for dropping in to my temporary place in the Tularosa Basin!

(And between you and me, I'm happy you've only got the two legs.)

Let me show you around.

So here's a pretty good view of the campsite shelter. Not all the sites have them, but they're a must to keep the sun at bay and also protect me from the rain, although a fellow camper said when the rain hits really hard, there can be veritable creeks running right through the living room.

The tablecloth there? Every day, a hummingbird stops by and re-confirms that, no, these aren't real flowers. I bought this tablecloth in the Yukon more than 15 years ago when my daughter and I took a road trip to Alaska.

Oliver Lee Memorial State Park near Alamogordo, New Mexico. September 2012. Credit: Mzuriana.

Here you can see a view of the Sacramento Mountains behind my site. 

Oliver Lee Memorial State Park near Alamogordo, New Mexico. September 2012. Credit: Mzuriana.

And here's my living room. The table I bought from friend Jackie at her garage sale when she moved to Tennessee. That Playmate cooler figures prominently in my road trip pack list.  The plastic trash bag affixed to my chair - the campsites are bereft of places to attach things like trash bags, clotheslines, and the like, though I did learn of one trick from a fellow camper. More on that later.

Oliver Lee Memorial State Park near Alamogordo, New Mexico. September 2012. Credit: Mzuriana.

This is the view from my dining table: the Tularosa Basin.

Oliver Lee Memorial State Park near Alamogordo, New Mexico. September 2012. Credit: Mzuriana.

Since I've been in the area, I've seen six tarantulas, a rattlesnake, and other ominous-looking critters.

This visitor just barged right in without asking. We agreed that if I left it alone, it'd leave me alone.

Oliver Lee Memorial State Park near Alamogordo, New Mexico. September 2012. Credit: Mzuriana.

On the way back from a ranger talk, I saw this long rattlesnake crossing the road.

Oliver Lee Memorial State Park near Alamogordo, New Mexico. September 2012. Credit: Mzuriana.

When I first arrived at my campsite, I found these four pennies on the picnic table. In case they were somehow maintaining order in the universe, I left them on the table, though I did rearrange them in a fashion more pleasing to my eye. There's a lesson in there somewhere.

Oliver Lee Memorial State Park near Alamogordo, New Mexico. September 2012. Credit: Mzuriana.